


Christmas Fireworks

by Science_Cat



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Science_Cat/pseuds/Science_Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine your OTP is awaiting a firework display. It rains/snows canceling the show. Person B is upset who really wanted to see the fireworks the most. Person A says they can make their own fireworks. Person B asks how just when Person A swoops in, kissing them prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas fic in October because fuck it. Of course, unbeta'd so excuse any mistakes and as always I hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t very long before dusk set over the cold, December sky. Crisp, sparkling snow covering Pete’s lawn. The sidewalk and small suburb streets roughly shoveled and cleared for pedestrians and cars. The streetlights and Christmas lights down the street, beginning to illuminate the streets. There’s a light snowfall out, and it doesn’t look too cold out for once. The whole band was back home for the Holidays. Andy was back in Wisconsin visiting his mom; Joe was with his family celebrating Hanukkah. Patrick was back in Glenview and Pete was back in his own familiar Chicago suburb. The house was wafting with familiar Yuletide scents and decorated to the brim with all sorts of holiday junk. It was a tradition every year, to go to see the Chicago Christmas fireworks. Usually, he’d go with his family, but this year he was going with Patrick. That concept itself was enlivening to Pete alone. But ever since he discovered that the fireworks held a special place in Patrick’s heart it was ultimately one hundred times better. Apparently, the Christmas fireworks are one of few things that get Patrick excited about, similar to his passion for music. And if Patrick’s hyped then Pete definitely is. During Christmas was the only time you’d find Pete Wentz ever wearing any kind of sweater. He’s over at the coat rack pulling a thick, hoodie over his ugly Christmas sweater (courtesy of mom) when his phone let out a small buzz, as anticipated it was Patrick. A new burst of excitement rushes through Pete, making him antsier. He grabs his phone to reply to Patrick:

“You on your way? I don’t want to be late.”

“I’m on my way Pattycakes, don’t worry your frosty cheeks; we won’t be late. Do I get a kiss under the mistletoe when I get there?”

“Fuck off.”

As quick as he can, Pete grabs the heavy, black boots by the door, shoving them on and lacing them up. Nearly forgetting, he grabs the wool cap and car keys off the small stand, adjacent to the door before trekking out into the cold winter evening. Okay, so it was colder than Pete had anticipated. “Too late now, just get to the car,” he thinks before quickening his pace slightly, trying to avoid the slick ice. Suddenly, he finds himself losing traction, falling backward in a heartbeat of a moment. He laid there for a moment, his ass, now lying on the icy, cement ground. Writhing in pain, he let out an elongated, painful groan before mustering up the strength to get up. Hopefully, no one saw that. He brushes his ass off before gaining access to the car. His cheeks stung from the cold and his hands not much feeling to them. Cranking the heat on, he pulled out of the driveway. The colored lights and decoration blur past fast, although they still giving off a warm, cheery feeling against the cold Chicago winter. It’s not long before Pete pulls into the curb against Patrick’s house. Patrick’s house is equally decorated with freakish amounts of Christmas decor and blends in with the colored blur of the rest of the suburb. A bundled mass makes his way out of the door, slowly heading towards Pete’s car. A quick rush of cold air floods in through the momentarily opened door. Patrick’s glasses fog up at sudden rush of warm air. “Dammit.” Patrick mutters. Finally settling into the car, he removes the scarf from around his face, revealing a slightly pink tinted cheeks and an excited smile. His hair slightly curled from the dampness of the wool cap. Pete really wanted to kiss Patrick right now. The moment was perfectly set up, protected in the comfortable heat of the car surrounded by the Chicago winter. Pete couldn’t, a dull ache settling in his chest. “Ready for our date Pattycakes?” he wiggles his eyebrow at Patrick. Face slightly pinker, he throws a punch at Pete’s arm. “Ass.” Patrick mutters, smirking. He pulls the car out of the curb.

One crude rendition of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ later, they make it to the parking lot, slightly packed with people ready to watch the display. Pete’s noticed the wind has picked up a little bit since they left Patrick’s house and hoped it doesn’t interfere with tonight. They’re settled on the hood of Pete’s car, waiting and listening to the quiet chatter around them. “Dude, aren’t you freezing?” Patrick looks at him up and down with a raised eyebrow. “A bit, but that’s okay.” He shrugs. “Here,” Patrick says, taking his scarf and wrapping it around Pete. The rather large, red scarf is warm, and it smells like Patrick, like home. It’s comfortable and soft against Pete’s exposed skin. “Thanks, mom,” he beams at Patrick. Patrick just rolls his eyes, and a small smile spreads across his face. “Idiot,” he smiles. It isn’t long before the bitterness is cutting through to Pete’s hands in his pockets. “Damn, my hands are cold. I should’ve brought my gloves.” He curses aloud. He takes his hands out of his pockets, red, not much feeling to them. Without a word, Patrick slips off his gloves and takes his Pete’s hands into his rubbing them for warmth. Patrick’s hands slip into Pete’s perfectly. Patrick’s palms are smooth and soft, fingertips calloused from ages of guitar playing against Pete’s. Patrick intertwines his fingers with his own, the pale skin against Pete’s caramel skin distinctly clashing. The realization that they’re holding hands sinks slowly into Pete’s brain. He looks up at Patrick, who’s gazing at him fondly and lovingly. The gaze is interrupted by a police officer, vaguely Santa-looking, with a look of disappointment on his face. “Sorry to inform you folks, but the show tonight is canceled. At the rate of the wind picking up, it’s hazardous.” Pete looks over to Patrick, who’s looking like a kicked puppy and about to cry, makes Pete’s heart ache. “Um- thanks for letting us know, Merry Christmas,” he says half-heartedly to the man. “Sorry again, you folks drive safe, Happy Holidays.” The man turns away and begins making his way towards another family. “This fucking sucks. Christmas is basically ruined.” Patrick says, spiritless looking down and kicking a random chunk of loose snow. “We can make our own fireworks,” Pete says, heart racing in his chest. This was it, the moment. “How?” Patrick snorts softly, hopeless. Pete unwraps the scarf from around his neck throwing it over Patrick, grasping the ends, pulling him in. Pete’s chapped; rough lips catch and overlap on Patrick’s smooth, soft bottom lip. With a gasp against his mouth, Patrick kisses back. His arms slip behind Pete, pulling him closer. Pete gently bites down on Patrick’s plump, lower lip. He lets a whine out from the back of his throat as Patrick’s tongue licks the seam of his mouth. The heat of the moment impenetrable by the bitter atmosphere. Patrick’s breath is warm and sweet, with a taste of peppermint, It’s intoxicating and Pete’s addicted. There’s a sigh in Patrick’s voice as Pete pulls away with a plop. Patrick, eyes half lidded with desire, looks at Pete. “We should go before our asses freeze off.” A warm smile spread across both of their faces. Maybe Christmas wasn’t ruined after all.


End file.
